


Stars of the darkest night

by sahina



Series: The Pink Lagoon [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, jon has a massive crush, martin is trans. this is not stated in the fic but it's important to me that you know, nb! jon who uses he/him, no spooky stuff au, this takes place during the first part of this series but can be read as a stand-alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:08:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahina/pseuds/sahina
Summary: “What are you thinking about?” the question spills out from between chapped lips and evaporates into the air, but not before Jon has a chance to catch some of it with his own sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t realised they were huddled this close to one another.Biting back the instinctual,you, Jon clears his throat in a futile attempt to dislodge his heart sitting there.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Pink Lagoon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811704
Comments: 13
Kudos: 89





	Stars of the darkest night

**Author's Note:**

> life has been kicking my ass lately so i haven't been writing as much as i would've liked to, but finally i'm posting more about this au that i hold very dear! i have a lot of ideas concerning this au so i'm making it into a series i'll hopefully update with some sort of regularity
> 
> with that said, the first part isn't really needed for this to make sense as it's just some pining on jon's part, but for some context:
> 
> this is an au where jon is in a band with georgie. they perform at the venue called the pink lagoon, where martin first saw them live. jon can't write lyrics at all and is mostly in charge with coming up with the music to their songs! uhhh everyone is there and in some way lgbtq+ because i say so.
> 
> that's pretty much it! i hope you enjoy!

Martin is wearing a button up littered with flowers, small specks of yellow and red on a black canvas, not unlike the stars above them. They peak out beneath a rusty orange jacket, the collar standing up like he forgot to flatten it when he left his flat earlier. His hair is getting long, cascading down his neck and shoulders in auburn waves, framing his face and making the faded freckles stand out all the more against pale skin. Lips tinged with blue from the cold, breath coming out in white puffs every time he laughs, a beautiful sound, and Jon is utterly and hopelessly in love.

They’re standing outside the venue, the crowd having filtered out after the last performance of the night, leaving only the regulars and those who didn’t want the night to end just yet; both Martin and he found themselves on the interface between the two groups. Jon is working on his second cigarette of the day, midnight having passed an hour ago or so. He’s always considered himself someone lacking of words; proper words that seem like they were taken from your conscience, scooped out of the hollow of your chest and expressed in a way you’ve never even thought about yourself despite the countless times you’ve held the words, shapeless and giving, in your hands as you twist and turn them. That’s always been Georgie’s job, he’s simply the one to put a melody to them. There’s a certain beauty in being able to produce lyrics like that he himself will never be able to recreate, but he thinks that if he were able, the first thing he’d write about is everything he observes about Martin.

Martin, who gazes at him with a shy smile, the kind that only comes after the buzz of alcohol has entered the system, and it makes his round cheek catch some of the pink light through the window. Jon almost reaches out with his glove-clad hand to cradle it, running his thumb over the mole that resides just under his left eye. He doesn’t remember where he’s heard it from, but he recalls a saying that people who have birthmarks where tears flow lead lives of sorrow. Aware that it’s a fruitless thought he sincerely hopes that isn’t the case for Martin, but taking in the way he holds himself in an attempt to make himself smaller and the apologetic way he speaks of himself, tells him differently. He hopes, at the very least, that the tears that flow aren’t always those of grief.

“What are you thinking about?” the question spills out from between chapped lips and evaporates into the air, but not before Jon has a chance to catch some of it with his own sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t realised they were huddled this close to one another.

Biting back the instinctual,  _ you _ , Jon clears his throat in a futile attempt to dislodge his heart sitting there. “Just, erm, spacing out. Wasn’t thinkin’ of anything in particular,” his speech comes out slightly slurred, tongue like lead in his mouth. The distinct tang of whiskey in his drink has settled on it like a film. He knows Martin isn’t too far from his own level when he giggles, hand coming up to rest over his mouth to hide his dopey grin. He doesn’t realise he’s talking until he’s halfway through the sentence, “Don’t do that. You don’t have to hide, you have a very nice smile.” he punctuates it with a cough, embarrassment catching up to him even in his slightly inebriated state. He watches as Martin lets his hand fall away, putting it in his pocket instead. His hands are turning red, no doubt because of the cold, and it makes Jon quietly decide that he’s done being outside. He doesn’t feel the cold as acutely as Martin, or rather, he doesn’t register it, but the tremble of his own hand holding the cigarette betrays the chill in his bones.

Bending down to stub out the cigarette, he risks a glance upwards through his eyelashes, and is greeted by Martin, head turned to the empty street, eyes distant. His face is relaxed in that particular way when he thinks no one is paying attention, but instead of the small frown he’d normally wear the corners of his lips are still curled upwards in a softer, sweeter version of the shy smile he’d worn since they ventured outside. It knocks the breath out of Jon to see him like this, unguarded and so very kissable. Jon finds himself glad he turned down another drink for he is certain that he wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to press his lips against that smile, or the slight dimple in his cheek.

“I can’t believe you’re still wearing them,” Martin says, still facing away from Jon. He’s dimmed a little, like light shone through fabric, and Jon’s heart aches for him. “Or, the one, I guess.”

Jon has to tear his gaze away to peek at his hands. His left hand is glove-clad, protected from the chill, while his right is bare. Holding a cigarette without free fingers is not an easy feat, so he’s taken to keeping his one hand warm at least. He lets himself linger on the pattern, tracing white dots resembling snowflakes falling against a solid grey backdrop. It’s not the work of a professional- he can see the attempt at mending dropped stitches on two separate rows, but it’s so obviously made with love it makes up for any mistakes. 

“I love them,” he replies, a little distracted and too far from sober to be anything but honest. “I mean, they’re, ah,  _ very _ nice.”

Martin startles him with a laugh, louder and somehow more sincere than anything he’s heard tonight. “‘s that all you have to say about that?  _ Very nice, _ ” his tone drops in an attempt at mimicking Jon’s voice, putting on an exaggerated accent. Jon is helpless to stop the laughter bubbling up from within him.

“Is that- Is that supposed to be me?” he asks around the smile pulling at his lips. He thinks distantly that being with Martin is the easiest thing he’s ever done. 

“As if that could be anyone else,” he teases. Jon dramatically rolls his eyes, unconvincingly no doubt.

“Let’s head back inside, wise guy,” he’s just got enough self control to not stick out his tongue as he says it. Martin shakes his head slowly, leaning his shoulder heavily against the brick wall. His eyes shine bright despite his slumping frame, exhaustion from a full day of work no doubt settling into him at this late hour. Jon doesn’t even know what time it is, but judging from the thinning late night crowd it’s after one at the very least.

“Hate to cut this short but I think I’m gonna head home actually. Meeting up with Gerry tomorrow for brunch.”

“Brunch, huh. Could you be any less straight, Martin?” he gives an unimpressed quirk of his eyebrow. Martin stifles a snicker, pushing himself up from the wall.

“Can’t exactly help that though, can I?”

“No, no, I suppose not.”

He shakes his head and puts on his other glove before stuffing his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t miss the way Martin’s gaze follows them, or the glint in his eyes. Peering in through the window to their side he spots Tim immediately, busy chatting with a patron. Knowing he won’t get his attention, Jon resolves to just text him when he’s home, as his phone is critically low on battery and in dire need of his charger before he uses it again.

“I’ll walk you.” he states. There’s no way he’s letting Martin go home by himself at this hour, even if he wouldn’t be much help if anything  _ did  _ happen, it brings him comfort to know with certainty that he made it home without issue.

“Are- are you sure?” Martin asks sheepishly, like it’s a bother. Jon wishes to convey that it’s anything but, that nothing is when it comes to Martin; that he’ll gladly move heaven and earth for this man. What comes out instead is a murmured, “Yes.” accompanied by a nod. His mind is a little too fuzzy for such thoughts, he muses- as if he’d be able to tell them were he sober- so he packs them away for a later time. Something tells him they’ll visit him when he’s crawled into bed whether his head is clearer or not, and he’ll have no choice but to examine them until they no longer hold shape. Had he been another person maybe he could turn them into heart wrenching lyrics to share with Martin, something for him to listen to when he needs the reminder that there are people who love him unconditionally.

Their eyes lock for a moment and once again Jon is made aware of how close they’re standing, but the moment is broken by Martin clearing his throat, averting his eyes to look past Jon’s head. “My place’s that way,” he mumbles into the collar of his jacket, taking a step around him. He’s steady on his feet, despite the slight sway of his torso.

Jon, however, finds he is not. He doesn’t quite crash into him, but it’s a close call; legs unsteady, he staggers to the side, caught by Martin’s hands on his shoulder and back respectively. It takes him a second to regain his balance, and chooses that moment to face his saviour with an apology ready on his lips, only for the words to die on his tongue before they’re out.

Martin is  _ so very close _ , breath hot on his forehead, lip caught between his teeth in an unsuccessful attempt at stifling the dopey grin he’d be sporting otherwise. Jon has been on the receiving end of that very grin a handful of times and it never fails to knock the air out of him. 

“I’m no expert but I’m fairly certain walking in heels sober is difficult, why would you put yourself through walking in them  _ drunk?”  _ he shoots Jon a look of playful disapproval, eyebrows quirked. Jon straightens up and scoffs.

“First of all, I’m not  _ drunk.  _ Just because you’re better at holding your liquor doesn’t mean you can call me drunk,” he takes another step and narrows his eyes at an amused Martin at the slight stumble of it, daring him to say anything. “and secondly, heels aren’t that hard to walk in. I’ve been wearing them for years now, Martin, I assure you I’d be walking just the same wearing your shoes.” he scrunches his nose, mostly for show, and eyes Martin’s worn sneakers with distaste.

“Sure,” comes the reply, accompanied by a slight shake of his head, his eyes twinkling with something that has Jon’s heart jumping back up in his throat. He’s entirely aware of the hand still resting on his upper back, warmth seeping in through his coat and settling cosily in his bones.

The walk to his apartment is shorter than anticipated, Jon having somehow gotten in his head that Martin lived further away. It’s a nice surprise though, as he himself lives quite close to The Pink Lagoon, and therefore relatively close to Martin. The revelation threatens his attempt at schooling his face into something less giddy at seeing the outside of his building, Martin having pointed out his window as soon as it came into view. He found himself completely _un_ surprised at the fairy lights peeking out through it however. It seemed so very _Martin_ to have lights in the shape of small stars decorating his apartment. He pushes back the desire to know more, to see the inside of his home. It will have to be saved for another time when one of them doesn’t have an appointment to keep the following day

“I guess this is where we say good night,” Martin starts quietly as they approach the steps to the front door. The cheerful atmosphere has eased, leaving room for the gnawing wish for the night to continue; Jon doesn’t think he’s alone in feeling separate from time on nights like these, like they’re the only people left in the world. It is a different feeling than seeing each other in the daytime brings. While he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of watching the light from peaceful midday sun rest in Martin’s hair like a crown, it lacks the freedom of a friday night spent in the glow of their favourite venture. Jon wants to grasp the hours of the early day and never let go, and judging by Martin’s fidget in his own fingers he might not be alone in this line of thinking.

“I suppose so. I, er, had a good time tonight.” he says, eyes sliding to a spot next to Martin’s ear, silently hoping the colour in his cheeks isn’t too obvious.

“Me too,” Martin breaths. “I would invite you in but…”

“Yeah, no, I get it. Another time?”   


“Definitely. Maybe we can see if everyone’s free sometime this weekend for board games or something.”

Jon huffs a laugh, “Boardgames?”

“Yes! I’ll have you know it is a great group activity and I own some  _ very _ fun games. Gerry can confirm.” mirth tinges his tone, somberness momentarily forgotten.

“I believe you,” Jon holds his hands up in mock surrender, relaxing somewhat himself at their banter. For not the first time this night, he thinks that being with Martin is the easiest thing he’s ever done.

“Thank you,” he nods curtly, as if he’s won some big argument. The corners of his eyes are crinkled with the effort of maintaining a serious expression. “Really though, I have to be able wake up tomorrow so I have to get home now. I did have a great time.” a pause, and then,”Good night, Jon.” said so softly, it feels out of place to the backdrop of the constant hum nightlife in London brings.

“Good night, Martin,” he responds, equally soft. There is a brief moment where he debates leaning in for a hug- it’s not too out of place for friends to hug, right? Even if you’ve only known them for a couple of months?- but the moment passes too quickly and Martin is already halfway up the steps when he comes to a conclusion.

Watching the door slip closed, he exhales, remembering just how cold it is outside at the trail of white his breath leaves. He shoves his hands back into his pockets and turns around to walk in the opposite direction. To get home he has to go back the way they came, pass The Pink Lagoon, and continue for another few minutes before he’s at his own flat.

“Good night,” he repeats to himself, the early hours of the night suddenly weighing on him and making him aware just how tired he is. The buzz of the alcohol has mostly worn off in the crisp air, but enough of it lingers for him not to be embarrassed at glancing over his shoulder for one last look at the window of the second highest floor. He sees the light turn on and that’s enough to let him continue into the night.

His phone vibrates against his thigh and upon seeing who’s texted him, he damns his low battery and decides to risk his chance of it dying. It's for a noble cause, he tells himself.

[2:24]

_ i’m trusting you to go home right away. don’t stop for more drinks or you’ll hate yourself tomorrow _

[2:26]

_ actually please text me when you’re home so i know you got there safely _

|2:37]

_ good night jon _

He doesn’t see the last message until he’s home, crouched by the charger he left in the wall, phone in hand. The corners of his lips curve upwards, like so many times that night, and again he is struck by how utterly and hopelessly in love he is with Martin Blackwood. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr @mx-wayne! i also have other tma fics both written and unwritten that are not part of this au!


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